Night After Night
by Dark Aegis
Summary: He realises that he never truly stood a chance against her, against whatever this truly is.' Sequel to Through the Night. A Tenth Doctor, Rose story.


**Title:** Night After Night  
**Author:** Gillian Taylor  
**Character/Pairing:** Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** _He realises that he never truly stood a chance against her, against whatever this truly is._ Sequel to Through the Night  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.

**A/N:** This was a request fic for five minutes after the end of 'Through the Night' by Aibhinn and debs7. This one's dedicated to you two :) Thanks, as always, to my fabulous beta WMR

* * *

**Night after Night  
by Gillian Taylor**

She sighs softly and snuggles into his chest, her fingers clenching around the fabric of his shirt. He knows that the wrinkles will probably never truly come out, but he can't find it within himself to care.

There's something comforting about this. About holding her through the night. About feeling her breathing against his skin, her body curled trustingly into his own. If he's not careful, he might start craving this. Needing this more and more every day until even the thought of sleeping without her is anathema to him.

In many ways, he knows, he's already lost that particular battle. He's already given in to the first need, the desire to know that she's safe, to hold her within his arms. No dreams visited him in the darkness, in the few hours that he slept with her wrapped around him. And now he's simply content to watch her sleep.

He commits everything to his memory. The way her hair moves almost imperceptibly with her breath. The way she clutches his shirt in one of her hands. The way she pouts slightly at something in her dreams. The way her eyes move beneath her eyelids, betraying her sleep.

He shouldn't be doing this, he realises. But each time he's even slightly tempted to move, to leave, she shifts in her sleep and he stays. She's alive. Gloriously, magnificently alive, and it's brilliant.

A sigh escapes him and he gives into temptation, brushing one strand of her hair away from her face, tucking it securely behind her ear. This is dangerous. So, so dangerous. He could hurt her – has hurt her – and he knows how this will end.

With broken hearts and broken lives. Hers and his. And she'll leave him. Perhaps not willingly, but she'll leave. Just like all the others. Sometimes they leave to save themselves from this life. Sometimes they leave to save him. And sometimes they don't get to choose anything other than death.

He doesn't want to think about the future. The future hurts as much as the past. The knowledge that time only grants him such a short while to appreciate what he has is something that has always weighed heavily upon him. He doesn't always appreciate what he has until it's gone.

With the sound of her breathing and the feel of her in his arms dominating his senses, he makes a vow. Not with her. Not now.

She stirs slightly in his arms, stretching so that one leg is casually thrown over his. Making a soft 'mmm' sound, she rubs her face against his chest and settles once more.

He should get up. There's that sticky valve on the temporal rotor. He's been meaning to fix that for a few centuries at least. Or fixing that leaky tap in his bathroom. Admittedly the drip has become an old friend now, but it's starting to get on his nerves. These and at least a dozen other thoughts tumble through his mind. Yet he still doesn't move.

He tells himself that he doesn't want to wake her. She's had a trying couple of weeks. So has he. The reality, he admits if only to himself, is that he's too comfortable to move, too reassured by the feel of her by his side to leave.

He hasn't told her what it was like. Day after day, night after night, almost sick with worry over what happened to her. Hasn't told her how one of his hearts almost stopped beating the instant that he thought she was dead. Hasn't told her about the almost-crippling relief that filled him the moment he saw her running towards him.

What matters most is that she's here. Safe, alive and in his arms.

That's when he realises that he never truly stood a chance against her, against whatever this truly is. He doesn't want to sleep – in those instances that he does rest – alone ever again.

He softly bangs his head against the headboard, trying not to disturb her with his movements. He's a fool. A bloody fool. He can't do this. He shouldn't do this. He-

He blinks when he realises that she's staring at him.

* * *

She spends those first few moments of wakefulness appreciating the view. She thought, at first, that he wouldn't've spent the night. He might've said he wanted to, but she knows him. This is skirting dangerously close to domestic.

His brow is slightly furrowed as he leans back against the headboard. This is, she thinks, slightly voyeuristic. He probably doesn't even realise that she's awake. It's such a rare moment to catch him so unguarded that she does her best to cherish it. To burn the expression on his face into her memory, to memorise the way his arms are holding her close.

In this moment, she feels safe and protected. In this moment, she's home.

She wonders now, in the security of this embrace, why he kissed her the night before. Why he stayed was obvious. The past two weeks scared him. Scared her too, admittedly. Holding her, and being held in return, was the simplest of comforts, a balm to a damaged soul. Kissing, though, was something else entirely.

She wishes she were bold enough to ask, to speak the words that are caught in her throat, but she knows she won't. It's not courage that's failing her now. It is courage that's keeping the words unsaid. She doesn't want to lose what they already have, what they've already gained. She doesn't want to push him away as she knows those words would be apt to do.

So she resolves to keep her silence, let the question remain unanswered. Maybe he'll make the move, maybe he'll tell her what she wants to hear. Maybe she's only deluding herself.

As though her thoughts alerted him, the Doctor blinks and focuses his attention upon her and she offers him a slightly goofy smile. "Hello," she says softly. She's torn between thanking him for staying the night or acting like nothing has changed.

"Hello," he replies and she feels suddenly nervous. Despite the fact that they both wanted this, she wonders if they've gone too far.

There is something far too comforting about waking up to find him there. Far, far too comforting. She knows he doesn't do this sort of thing (even though he's doing it now). She knows that this isn't what he meant when he asked to spend the night (or is it?).

"Right," he declares, licking his lips. "Breakfast. Think that'd be brilliant right about now. Toast. No, no. Not just toast. Waffles! Seems a bit off. Eggs and bacon and sausage and toast. Oooh, much better. With jam. Lots of jam. And tea. Should go sort that."

He tries to slip out from underneath her and a momentary panic fills her. Not yet. She's not ready to let go just yet. Two weeks was a long time to live without him (never mind the bit where she lived without him for years, but that was before she knew what she was missing). She just wants to relish this for a little while longer. "Not yet," she whispers, not caring if it sounds too much like a plea.

The Doctor blinks again, but stills. "Rose." Her name is a question and a statement at the same time and she brushes her hand against his cheek.

"Thank you," she finally says, though that doesn't really answer him.

"For what?" he asks and she realises that he doesn't really understand.

She shrugs helplessly, unsure of how to put her thoughts and feelings into something as simple and inadequate as words.

He seems to understand as he smiles at her and replies, "You're welcome."

The low rumble of his voice echoes through her body and it's only then that she realises how she's currently wrapped around him. Her position's possessive. A leg is thrown over his, her arms wrapped around his torso. A blush warms her skin and she's about to mumble an apology when his hand touches her chin, tilting her face towards him. She wonders if he's going to kiss her again.

The Doctor looks like he's about to say something terribly important when he asks, "Where would you like to go to today? All of time and space are at your command. Anywhere you like. Where to?" She thinks he panicked at the last moment when he came up with that question.

She isn't certain how she feels about that. "Nowhere," she replies, taking the easy way out. A holiday sounds fantastic, really. No running for their lives, no danger, just the two of them.

Then again, that might be dangerous in and of itself.

"Nowhere? Bit of a dull planet, you know. Well, I say dull, and the natives would likely agree. It's a pale, grey planet with little to no life. You sure you want to go there?"

She laughs. Of course there's a place called 'nowhere'. Only makes sense, really. She's come to learn that after a while, humanity got tired of naming planets. There's Nowhere, Noplace, Boring (though it wasn't very boring considering what happened there), Dull, Blue (the Doctor's particularly fond of that planet for reasons that escape her), Exciting (which is actually a rather dull place), The Other Boring (not to be confused with Boring, of course) and Comeagainsoon. The Doctor insisted that Comeagainsoon was meant to be something of a joke; she put it down to the casinos on that planet wanting more money.

"I meant here. Stayin' here," she clarifies her earlier words. "A holiday of sorts."

"Ah," he says, drawing out the sound. For a moment she wonders if he's disappointed by her request, but that thought's banished by his brilliant smile. "A holiday! Blimey, haven't done one of those in, oh, well, at least not in this regeneration. Be good for us, I think. Recharge the batteries. Do a bit of spring cleaning around here. Been meaning to fix that dodgy coupler in the console for years. Perfect time for it."

"Yeah," she agrees, forcing herself to dismiss her earlier concerns. A holiday sounds brilliant. Maybe she'll do some exploring. There're plenty of corridors that she's yet to travel down in the TARDIS. Or maybe she'll just linger by one of the pools. Doesn't matter, really. She just hopes she can convince him to join her at least once.

"Ready for the first day of our holiday?" he asks.

She smiles and nods, letting him pull her out of bed. Though she feels a pang of sorrow at the moment his hand drops away from hers, that smile doesn't fade. It's a step forward, she decides.

* * *

He surveys the bits and bobs that are scattered about the TARDIS console room floor and shakes his head. It'd been a brilliant idea, really. Overhaul the TARDIS. Replace several of the wires, connectors, relays and switches that've started to show their age. Simple enough, right? He just hadn't expected the old girl would fight him on it.

She seemed to like the way things were, never mind how much he cajoled her. It might be her way of telling him to get on with it, especially since he's using the TARDIS as an excuse to avoid Rose. For all his bravado and apparent unconcern this morning, he still craved her company. Craves her presence, her hugs and even, with that briefest of touches, her kiss.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. He's told himself time and again that this isn't a good idea. Probably one of the worst (best) ideas he's had in all his lives. He shouldn't've stayed. He knows that. Knew that. And yet he had, he did, and this is the result. A TARDIS that's angry with him and a companion who's avoiding him.

No, poor choice of words. He's the one avoiding her, after all. He hasn't seen Rose since she brought him lunch. That had to be, oh, eight hours ago by now. At least he knows she can't've got into too much trouble. This is the TARDIS, safest place in the universe. Unless, of course, the TARDIS decides to be difficult and not let him –

The pitch of the TARDIS's hum deepens and he gets the impression that his ship is laughing at him. Wonderful.

He best find her, then. Never know what she might be up to. Or down to, as the case may be.

She's probably exploring, he rationalises. There're plenty of rooms in the TARDIS that she hasn't seen yet. He knows that he never really got around to showing her some of the more fantastic rooms in the ship. If she hasn't found them already, that is.

She'd probably love the butterfly room. Or the Zero Room. Or his bed…

He curbs that thought immediately.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sets off into the TARDIS, calling her name. He's starting to get worried by the time he finally finds her, but that worry dissipates the instant he sees her. Rose is fast asleep, curled up on one of the sofas in the library. It's been a long day, he supposes, and he doubts that she had enough sleep over the past few weeks.

He should probably move her. Put her to bed. Decided, he crosses the room and gently lifts her into his arms. She doesn't do more than open one eye sleepily and burrow her face into the material of his shirt in reaction. Smiling fondly, he carries her through the halls of the TARDIS, taking care not to jostle her.

When he reaches her bedroom, he carefully walks to the bed and sets her gently upon the mattress. He ponders removing her trainers and socks, maybe her hoodie, but decides against it. Before he can move away, she catches his sleeve with one of her hands.

"Stay?" she mumbles, her voice barely audible through her yawn.

He probably shouldn't, he rationalises. Shouldn't give into temptation another night. He blames the look in her eyes, tells himself that this way she won't dream. He shouldn't stay.

If he stays, he's giving in. He's acknowledging that it's too late to stop (though he doesn't want to). He knows that he shouldn't stay.

But he does.

* * *

It's become something of a tradition, she's found. Every night of their self-imposed holiday so far, though they'd start off the night alone, he'd either find her or she'd find him. Somehow, someway they'd end up in a bed. Hers and, on one memorable occasion, his. They only sleep, but she finds that she craves the feel of his arms around her, the sound of his double heartsbeat within her ear as she rests her head against his chest.

It's just sleep, she tells herself. But somehow it's more than that. So much more. She thinks this is as much a holiday as the rest. They're seeking comfort, that's all. Doesn't mean anything else. Can't mean anything else.

But he kissed her again the night before. The quickest of kisses, so fast that she almost thought she dreamed it but for the lingering tingle on her skin. He wished her goodnight and that was it. Another day gone. Another night in his arms.

She's confused, though she knows she shouldn't be. This is the Doctor. He probably doesn't realise how this affects her, how it makes her feel. It's just sleep, she reminds herself again. Nothing more. It's just a kiss.

She can't convince her heart of that.

It's only later on this, the final day of their holiday, as she walks towards her room hand-in-hand with the Doctor, she can't stop the words from escaping her control. "Why?" she asks.

"Why?" he repeats. "Oh, could be here for hours going into that. Philosophers around the universe have been debating that for millennia. They're still no closer to answering the question." He looks at her and grins. "Though I don't think that's what you were after."

She shakes her head and smiles. "No. I mean why this?" She nods towards her bedroom, just a few steps away. "Why now?"

He swallows and his grin fades. He's looking at her intently and she flushes at his frank gaze.

The silence stretches between them for too long. She wonders if she's gone too far, if she's pushed him away. When he drops her hand, she feels bereft and she's already reaching towards him before she can stop the gesture.

She shouldn't've said anything. Already she can feel a wall being erected between them. The closeness of the holiday is over.

Welcome to real life, she tells herself and tries not to feel disappointed.

That's why she's floored the instant that his hand touches her cheek and he smiles. "Ah, now that's a brilliant question. Could let you go to bed on your own. I could go back to mine and have a bit of a lie-in. But where's the fun in that?"

She blinks at him, her mind going to places she's certain he doesn't mean for her to go. "Doctor?" she asks. It's about the most eloquent thing she can say at the moment.

"The real question, Rose Tyler, is why not?"

**THE END**


End file.
